


That Extra Inch

by Calico



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired <a href="http://supacat.livejournal.com/98610.html?thread=914226">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Extra Inch

Potter was stooping deeply when Snape opened the door.

"Sir," he exclaimed, freezing in a cowed position which Snape really rather liked. There was a messy sheaf of papers on the floor. "I-- I dropped--"

"Pick them up then, Potter," Snape said impatiently, turning and walking back into his quarters, leaving the door open behind him.

He sat down in his favourite green armchair, facing the fire, and waited with anticipation for the sound of the door slamming, followed by Potter's heavy tread towards the back of his chair.

"You're late," he said, enjoying the words in his mouth.

"I know," Potter said, from behind his chair, "I had-- but that's no excuse," he interrupted himself hoarsely, and Snape was heating up nicely now that he was here, at last. His cock had started to stiffen the moment Potter knocked on the door; now it pressed up warm and expectant in his lap.

This arrangement with Potter suited him well... his good humour sometimes felt quite dependent on it. It couldn't continue forever, of course.

"Come here, then," Snape said, and Potter, slouching, walked arms-folded around to the arm of the chair. Snape looked up at him, past the sizeable bulge that Potter always seemed to be pointing at his face, looking up at his ever-heftier shoulders, the scruffy way his hair curved against his increasingly angled throat. Potter's jaw looked more solid than ever, dark with stubble, and his mouth was pink and troubled.

"I have something to tell you," Potter said, wincing. He held open his cloak and drew Snape's attention to the papers, stuffed unevenly into an inside pocket.

"Can't it wait?" Snape said, fearing that a dreary account of Potter's latest conspiracy theory would utterly dampen his mood.

"Er... yes," Potter said, looking startled. Then he gave Snape a positively salacious glance, with a hint of a particularly dark smile - reprieved, even - and moved to stand in front of him, shrugging off his cloak as he moved, which fell in a swish of heavy folds. Beneath, Snape was pleased to note, Potter's long white shirt was only half-buttoned. "It certainly can wait."

"Then would you care," Snape said brusquely, "to get on with it?" and then his voice stuck in his throat, as Potter deftly sank to his knees, both hands finding Snape's thighs and pressing them apart. Snape swallowed the mumble of approval that Potter's efficiency elicited, managing to rub him up quite impressively as he opened Snape's trousers and eased his cock out into his large, warm hands.

"So I can tell you - after this," Potter said, carding his hands up and down and squeezing gently, suggestively lowering his mouth towards it.

Snape pressed his head hard back into the chair. "You may," he managed gruffly, and Potter gave him a disquietingly pleased smile and slipped Snape's cock into his mouth, sucking gently, then used one finger to nudge his glasses further up his nose.

Snape bit down on an inhalation - but really, this never became a chore. A month of Potter's mouth, Potter's hands, Potter's arse, to do with as he liked - provided, of course, that Potter remained his unequal, remained that tantalising half-inch shorter than himself - it had been as close to bliss as Snape had thought possible to find with someone so coarse.

And of course, he rather enjoyed Potter's coarseness during sex, he reflected faintly, as Potter blinked at him owlishly whilst his tongue moved wetly around Snape's cock, his startling green eyes full of immature challenges. He began sucking harder as Snape permitted one of his hands to lift and cup the back of Potter's head, ruffling that terrible hair, coaxing him to take him deeper into his mouth.

He would rue the day if Potter followed in James's footsteps; by the end of their schooldays, James had discovered that he was a full inch taller than Snape, and had lorded that fact in their last few weeks of knowing each other, drawing Snape aside at the slightest provocation and taking him roughly from behind.

Snape always turned hot with embarrassment at the memories, at the unexpected relish he'd felt, because although they were both from traditional families and so James had a perfect right to use him that way, he'd never actually taken advantage of the old customs with those shorter than himself. He'd tended to wear a two-inch enchantment in his shoes, for a quiet life, and he was, after all, quite a tall man. But then one late summer afternoon, when Snape had been reading barefoot by a tree, James had crashed down from the branches and Snape had jumped to his feet, and found himself face-to-face with him, but not quite eye-to-eye.

The gleam that had blossomed in James's eyes would stay with Snape for the rest of his days. And that had been the end of his quiet life, as James took quite the fancy to him, from that first hurried shag against the tree, James's kisses full of fierce pride - "_I knew it, I never had any proof but I *knew* you weren't 6'5",_" - to the last, languid lay in James's bed, the day they parted ways, James fucking him slowly, velvetly, kissing Snape's throat as Snape's head fell back on James's shoulder, as they both sighed and groaned.

"Stay with me," Potter - Harry Potter, Potter the younger - said, and Snape blinked and focused on Potter's mouth moving against the head of his cock, realised he'd closed his eyes without noticing. Shocking, since watching was one of the best parts, watching Potter's pink lips sliding up and down his cock, gleaming wetly, his body pushing close between Snape's thighs.

He'd sent an owl to Potter on his eighteenth birthday, enclosing a torn-out page from *Powerblood Practices* that detailed the ancient traditions in case Potter was not aware of them, noting also that he was simply drawing the ledger to Potter's attention, and did not plan to pursue the matter if Potter was going to be tiresome about it.

Potter had appeared outside his quarters the following day, a Saturday, and remained there until Snape made him leave in the early hours of Monday morning, by which point Snape was familiar with every crevice and plane of the boy's body, and somewhat startled by his own desire to keep exploring. That had been a month ago, and Potter visited most nights since, often provoking him obscenely in the last classes of the day, burning potions quite clearly on purpose, or jolting against Snape in corridors and only smirkily apologising.

Snape was abruptly reminded of Potter's unforgivably late arrival this evening. Remembering his irritation, he smoothed both hands through Potter's hair, lacing his fingers comfortably behind his head. He started rocking his hips gently in the chair, smoothly, sliding his cock in and out of Potter's mouth, watching Potter's eyes narrow as he pressed back against Snape's laced fingers and found them unmoving.

Potter gave him a glare but took him deeper, swallowing him capably, and the combination pulled a gasp from Snape at last. He pushed deeper still, the hot wetness of Potter's throat clutching at his cock, Potter's eyes flashing a fierce dark green. It was almost too much, all at once, and Snape forced Potter back off him and away, his cock pulsing in delicious warning, and gripped the arms of the chair hard, digging his fingertips into the faded green fabric until the waves of sensation had ebbed enough that he could speak.

"On your feet, I want you against the back of this chair," he said, somewhat arbitrarily, buying himself the time necessary for the flashing spots to retreat from his vision.

"But, sir," Potter said, sitting back on his heels, for some reason dismayed - and *that* was interesting.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You will take your clothes off, and you will explain yourself," he said softly, and Potter's cheeks flared red. He was unusually reactive today, Snape thought, watching Potter hurrying out of his shirt without getting to his feet, kicking his trousers into a heap behind him, narrowly missing sending them into the fire.

Snape unbuttoned his own shirt more slowly and slung it aside, followed by his trousers, noting with satisfaction that Potter was tracking his fingers with his gaze.

As soon as Snape had sat down again, Potter was kneeling forwards and pressing his broad bare chest against Snape's knees, saying quietly, "I just, I want," and leaning in, lowering his voice further to confide, "I want you sat right there."

"It is not about what you want," Snape admonished him, but he had to admit the idea had a certain piquancy to it. The chair was his favourite place to sit in the room, and spacious enough that Potter's knees could slide either side of him, and Potter could sit in his lap - and do all the work. "Oh, very well," Snape said, with that last thought, and Potter gave him a bright, hard grin and crawled up the chair, taking care to brush Snape's cock against his chest and stomach as he moved.

Potter knelt up on either side of Snape's thighs, which brought his cock level with Snape's face, full and heavy and hard, and so very like his father's. Snape was almost tempted to take a lick at it; the thought filled him with a dizzying heat, but before he could act Potter had started to sink down, reaching awkwardly behind himself to guide the head of Snape's cock between his thighs.

Snape shuffled his hips forward slightly, to better accommodate the angle, tingling furiously in Potter's warm, damp hand. "That's - thank you," Potter said, watching Snape's face closely, and then Snape felt the hot slickness that meant Potter had prepared himself earlier, which gave him a pang that he wouldn't get to watch him tonight, followed immediately by a rush of possessive pleasure because Potter was *his*, was obsessed with him, was coming to his quarters nightly dressed and ready to be fucked.

There was nowhere in the old traditions that dictated how *often* the shorter man must present himself, only that he must comply whenever the taller man meant to have access of him.

Snape held Potter's hips in both hands and panted softly, watching the flickers in Potter's face as he adjusted the angle and then *pressed*, bearing down firmly, pressing until the whole length Snape's cock slid up inside him, his head falling back, mouth open, eyes closed.

Snape had to grab one arm of the armchair again, raking his nails into it to save himself from coming straight away.

"Oh, *fuck*," Potter moaned, and sank gradually right down into his lap and stayed there, his own cock standing straight up against his stomach, thick and straining, red.

Snape, his mouth dry with the sheer pleasure of being buried in Potter's shivering body, wordlessly reached for Potter's cock and felt it jump eagerly against his hand. He wrapped his fingers loosely around it - and that was enough to set Potter off, to start him bouncing himself slowly on Snape's cock, his thighs trembling with the strain.

Snape made a low noise in his throat and tilted his hips, helping, sinking low in the chair and then staring up at him, momentarily dazzled as the firelight caught the side of Potter's face and made him look mouthwateringly, *achingly* like James.

The idea of fucking James, though, of fucking a man stronger than himself, *taller* than himself-- Snape looked away abruptly, biting the inside of his cheek in order to keep his control, and then found himself panting, overtaken with a deep wildness, almost fury, and he took Potter's hips in both hands and slammed up into him, imagining for one filthy second that Potter *was* taller after all.

"Oh *fuck*," Potter yelped, tipping his head back and moving faster, "fuck, oh, fuck me, yes, *there*," melting into the rhythm that Snape demanded of him with an eagerness that - Snape knew - only a shorter man could.

That recognition made Snape let go of that dark, secret fantasy again, and he subsided slightly, settling himself back against the chair, prying his hands away from Potter's hips and telling himself to relax and enjoy the show.

But even without Snape's urging, Potter was fucking himself with what felt like even more abandon than usual, and that, coupled with Potter's other unusual actions... A coldness impinged briefly on Snape's mind as he remembered the anxiety in Potter's face earlier: Potter had wanted to tell him something. Maybe Potter had a terminal illness, and this was the last time. Maybe Potter was being sent away, or had-- he couldn't have found a woman, could he? Or an even taller man?

"Potter," Snape heard himself whisper, suddenly needing to know despite Potter riding him, increasingly vigorously, with all the energy and craft of a paid man, "what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Potter's glasses had jiggled down his nose; he opened his eyes and peered at Snape incredulously, rising above Snape's lap until just the head of Snape's cock was inside, and then begged, "Can't it wait?", sinking heavily down and then began to lift back up again.

"Can it?" Snape demanded, grabbing Potter's hips again and tugging him back down.

"*Yes*," Potter growled loudly, wrapping his hand around his own cock and panting at the ceiling, rocking up and down against the resistance of Snape's hands and gasping, "oh, yes, oh, *Snape*, oh, *fuck*, yes--"

He came all over his belly and Snape's chest, gasping to the last, Snape almost carried along with him despite himself, having to grit his teeth against the sensations and sights and sounds. Potter shuddered and moaned against him, around him, heated and wet, and then swayed hugely and Snape had to catch him, gather his sweaty shaking body in his arms as he calmed back down.

By the time Potter's mouth kissed wetly over his ear, Snape's cock was beginning to protest that it was buried in Potter's hot, slick body, and not moving. So when Potter murmured lazily, "The thing, I'll tell you if you insist, but I would much rather you finished fucking me every which way, I want you to come inside me, I want it so badly," it was all that Snape could do not to kiss Potter's stupid red mouth and come right there.

"*Every* which way?" he said faintly, and Potter nodded, his eyes half-closed, glasses askew. He was used to Potter dozing off afterwards, not gazing at him with this undeniably renewed hunger.

His hand slightly trembling, Snape delicately plucked Potter's glasses off and set them aside and kissed him, open-mouthed and then frantic, raking his nails down Potter's back and hissing when Potter shifted again in his lap.

"Oh... oh..." Potter gasped slowly, his voice luxuriant against Snape's mouth, and then he was adding, "on my-- back, I wanna be on my back--"

"Did nobody ever teach you to enunciate?" Snape said distractedly, a part of his brain trying to calculate whether if he just threw Potter down on the rug in front of the armchair there was more than half a chance that that he'd crack his head on the fireplace.

"I want," Potter ground out, the words coming out clipped but oh so raw, coiling his arms around Snape's neck and lifting deliberately off him, "to be on my back," and then his voice loosened again, quickened, beseeching, "come on, I want you on top of me, looking down at me, won't you, please?"

Snape pushed him backwards off the chair, reckoning he could always muster a healing spell if he aimed badly. Potter sprawled backwards onto the rug as Snape followed him down and knelt on the floor between his thighs, his practised hands finding Potter's legs and folding them just so, lifting his arse in both hands and easing Potter towards him, lifting and pushing himself back inside.

"Oh," Potter moaned, crossing his hands above his head and pushing towards Snape with his hips - and yet, although he was pliant and noisy as a man could wish, he still had an inkling that something here wasn't quite right.

Snape tried a couple of thrusts with increasing frustration, then bent forwards lowered himself on top of Potter, who mumbled breathlessly and crossed his legs around the small of Snape's back, the yielding tightness of him blindingly delicious, but this too - aside from restricting him to inconveniently shallow thrusts - this too didn't quite feel right.

He tried to ignore it and accept the eager kisses that Potter was giving his neck, tried to focus instead on the sensation of Potter's cock rearing again between the slippery surfaces of their stomachs, but his mind kept tugging at that single discordant thread.

He thought about flipping Potter over, but he was enjoying the press of Potter's cock against his stomach, and wound up gathering him closer and really working himself deep, working on bringing this post-orgasmic Potter back up to satisfyingly frantic full tilt - but he had to admit, in the back of his mind, it wasn't Potter's reactions that were off kilter, it was his own.

As a last resort, almost hoping Potter wouldn't hear, he whispered against his throat, "why do I feel like this is the last time?" and Potter, properly hard now against Snape's stomach and beginning to move more urgently beneath him, muttered,

"It's not, I won't let it."

So there *was* something. But although that part of Snape's mind obviously wouldn't let it go, hearing the determination in Potter's voice went some way towards quieting his unease, and the increasingly deliberate moves of Potter's body went a long way towards reviving his intentions.

He reached between them and took hold of Potter's cock, sliding Potter's legs up over his shoulders and pushing in as far as he could, and Potter surged up against him, clutching at Snape's shoulder blades.

"Mm, oh," Potter gasped, and then, as that indefinable wrongness penetrated Snape's enjoyment once again, Potter seemed to anticipate it and muttered wildly, "hands and knees?" and Snape thrust hard at the tone of Potter's voice, his thoughts melting out for a few blazing seconds, and found himself nodding, agreeing, pulling out and letting Potter take the lead.

Potter crawled over to the armchair and braced himself against it, hands on the green cushioned seat, legs spread agreeably, looking back at Snape over his shoulder.

Snape's mouth went dry. How he *wanted* him, here, now, tomorrow, every tomorrow. Potter had him over a barrel, truly addicted - and from the way he was moving, the way he had directed this evening's entertainment, Snape suspected Potter knew this only too well.

It was time to redress the balance. He moved in behind him, brushing his cock lightly against Potter's thighs and smiling as Potter pressed eagerly back. *Agreed*, this was not going to be the last time, no matter what Potter needed to tell him. Potter was going to be begging him by the time Snape had finished with him tonight.

"Please," Potter said at once, when Snape dropped a kiss against the back of his neck, and Snape smirked. Apparently Potter was already ready to beg. Still, it would be interesting to see how inventive his pleading could become.

Snape spread his fingertips and rested them over the top of Potter's spine, enjoying the heat coming off him, the pressure as Potter leaned reflexively back into his touch.

"Oh, please," Potter murmured, his head back, his eyes closed.

Snape dropped another kiss on his throat and swept his fingertips lightly down Potter's back in a slow, barely-there zig-zag, watching with satisfaction for the hairs rising on Potter's fair skin. When he reached Potter's arse, he turned the zigzag into a lazy figure of eight, then skimmed back up Potter's spine as he started to tremble.

"I want," Potter said, shivers in his voice, and Snape slid his fingertips back down and pressed suggestively and then asked, softly,

"What do you want?"

"You." His voice was gratifyingly unstable.

"Why?" Snape demanded, closing both hands firmly now on Potter's hips, beginning to lose himself, pressing himself against Potter's arse again and almost flinching at the lust that jolted from the head of his cock to his brain.

"Because," Potter said breathlessly, "because I love how you fuck me," pushing back and wantonly curving his back, "it feels so... *right*," and Snape nodded and sighed in pleasure, his heartbeat speeding loudly, rubbing his face against Potter's hair--

\-- dipping his mouth to Potter's skin, kissing the line of his neck, his slouched shoulders--

\-- lining up with one hand as he reached round with the other and re-familiarised himself with the stiff sticky eagerness of Potter's cock. It was hot, jumping at the touch of his hand, jumping again as Potter's body yielded readily to Snape easing the tip of his cock back inside him--

\-- the smell of him, the taste of him, here and now, alone, his own--

\--and as he pushed himself in, he realised that the indescribable something was still wrong.

Potter flexed against him and braced himself against the chair and pressed back, arching his back against Snape's chest, and as he took Snape's cock in to the hilt Potter groaned and *straightened*-- and Snape realised *what* was wrong.

Potter had been slouching all evening, had kept changing position and keeping his head bowed and doing a beautiful job of keeping Snape's observatory skills occupied with other things-- but here it was, Potter straining back and the lines of his body tight against Snape's chest and *his shoulders were too high*.

Potter was taller than him. And Snape was *buried* in him, had been fucking him all evening, had been distracted and unable to put his finger on it and now his cock was in Potter's arse and Potter was *taller*, taller like James, and it really, it wasn't, Snape couldn't, it was *obscene*--

He stilled, shivering all over, as the implications began to dizzily spiral, and Potter murmured urgently and started moving himself on Snape's cock, fucking himself on it, his pale - tall - body reacting to Snape's cock like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Snape gritted his teeth, hot jolts of lust running through his shocked body, and asked in a low, tough whisper, "Potter. How long have you been taller than me?"

Potter bucked hard against him and for a moment Snape thought he'd come again, and the idea of that was secretly, dirtily, impossibly appealing, that Potter could be as shamefully, privately turned on by the idea as Snape had been.

Potter twisted to look back at him, eyes glittering warily, still shifting restlessly on Snape's cock, even now, still shifting even as Snape pulled out of him. "I only realised today," he said, nudging his arse hopefully back against the head of Snape's cock, his voice as rough as a raw edge of leather.

Snaep's voice lowered dangerously. "And you didn't care to avail me of that fact?" he said, and Potter's cheeks started to pinken.

"I. I brought a copy of the ledger, I thought we could-- I was going to tell you--"

"How much taller?" Snape demanded, and this changed everything, *everything*, they couldn't go on-- it was immoral, stunningly and indisputably-- and damn him but Snape's cock felt ever more hard--

"It's ju-- just an-- inch," Potter gasped, and Snape couldn't hold himself back, he shoved forwards, slid back into Potter to the hilt, and Potter yowled, his whole body shoving back sluttishly, his head falling forwards between his arms.

Snape pressed against him, tilted his mouth against Potter's neck, and pulled slowly out before helplessly shoving in again. "Every. Inch. Counts," he reminded him, slamming into Potter's arse with every word, and he didn't quite believe he was doing this and yet there was no force in the world right now that could make him stop.

"Oh, fuck," Potter breathed, sounding almost panicked, moving furiously, as if he was trying to get the most out of Snape's thrusts, as if he was right at the edge, almost out of control.

"You degenerate boy," Snape said savagely, giving him a short, hard thrust to emphasise each word, "you've tricked me into this, Potter - you withheld information so I'd fuck you like this - do you have any idea how depraved it is?"

"I know, I know," Potter gasped, "but-- ah--"

"And you were going to tell me earlier," Snape continued, remembering with violent clarity, "and then you decided against that, you purposefully obfuscated," and he was getting close to coming, could feel it inexorably coalescing, the angle refining, "perpetuating this *obscenity*--"

"Yes," Potter shouted breathlessly, "yes, yes, fuck me like *that*--"

The last tenuous vestiges of restraint evaporated all at once, and Snape grabbed Potter's waist and pushed him forwards and gave it to him, no holding back, and Potter yelled hoarsely into the seat of the chair, cocking his hips back and opening himself completely, swearing and pleading in the same ragged panting breaths.

"Degenerate," Snape gasped out, hot all over and beginning to pulse with impending orgasm, and Potter turned his head against the seat cushion, teeth bared and quaking with the force of Snape's hips, and the moment shuddered hot-bright and he could be James, James on his knees, taller and stronger and crushed against the cushioned seat of Snape's faded green armchair, begging and growling for more as Snape fucked him from behind.

Heat overflowed through Snape's entire body and he started to come, emptying himself into Potter in a glorious rush, slamming back into the present where Potter was shouting, "yes, I, Snape, yes, *yes*," shaking and clenching at every stroke, heaving back to meet Snape's thrusts and rubbing his face furiously against the dark green cushion.

Release filled Snape's body, and he collapsed over Potter's back, panting and trying not to swear himself, luxuriating for a brief few seconds in the pliant, slippery heat of Potter's body, before the reality of what they'd done nosed its way rudely to the top of his priorities.

The taboo they'd broken was - he could barely bear to think it. Potter was gasping weakly against the chair, shifting in restlessly on the leftover momentum of his orgasm, looking easily as well-fucked as anyone Snape had ever seen.

"Wanton boy," Snape breathed, sliding out of him, which tugged another hard inhalation from Potter's red, wet lips. Never again...

Snape pulled away from him, sitting back on the rug by the fire, not quite trusting his legs to cope with standing yet. He felt sticky and exhausted and hot with dread. Potter pushed limply back from the chair, which was quite possibly ruined, and gave Snape a dreamy, glazed sort of smile.

"That was incredible," he murmured, his voice incorrigibly husky.

Snape regarded him steadily, keeping his gaze neutrally on Potter's face. "You have no remorse at all," he said, in quiet disbelief. His heart was lurching in his chest.

Potter licked his lips. "That was the best sex of my *life*, sir," he murmured. "Why would I feel remorse?"

"You are genuinely telling me that you find it erotically palatable to be fucked by a man shorter than yourself," Snape said sharply, and Potter rose to his hands and knees and padded over to him, his gaze steady on Snape's face, looming until Snape was craning back to look up at him, and half expecting to be flipped over himself, as was Potter's indisputable right now.

"Personally," Potter said frankly, leaning closer until they were precisely eye-to-eye, "I couldn't give a toss how tall you are, I'd want you fucking me if you were 5'3", but the fact that it sent you through the *roof* just then, that's not just erotically *palatable*, sir. That's the hottest thing I've ever known."

Snape realised his lips were parted, that he was breathing dizzily through his mouth. "So you," he said faintly, "are you telling me you would want to do it again?"

"Every which way," Potter said roughly, and kissed him with both hands sliding to Snape's shoulders, and then pressed him down into the rug and crawled on top of him.

Snape groaned faintly and permitted it.

Maybe it was time to dig out his enchanted shoes.


End file.
